146 Juno and the Paycock: ACT III
Sean O'Casey
ACT III
The same as Act II. A look of dejection, mingled with uncertain anxiety, is on her face. A lamp, turned low, is lighting on the table. The votive light under the picture of the Virgin gleams more redly than ever. Mrs. Boyle is putting on her hat and coat. It is two months later.
Mrs. Boyle: An’ has Bentham never even written to you since — not one line for the past month?
Mary: (tonelessly). Not even a line, mother.
Mrs. Boyle: That’s very curious — What came between the two of yous at all? To leave you so sudden, an’ yous so great together — To go away t’ England, an’ not to even leave you his address — The way he was always bringin’ you to dances, I thought he was mad afther you. Are you sure you said nothin’ to him?
Mary: No, mother — at least nothing that could possibly explain his givin’ me up.
Mrs. Boyle: You know you’re a bit hasty at times, Mary, an’ say things you shouldn’t say.
Mary: I never said to him what I shouldn’t say, I’m sure of that.
Mrs. Boyle: How are you sure of it?
Mary: Because I love him with all my heart and soul, mother. Why, I don’t know; I often thought to myself that he wasn’t the man poor Jerry was, but I couldn’t help loving him all the same.
Mrs. Boyle: But you shouldn’t be frettin’ the way you are; when a woman loses a man, she never knows what she’s afther losin’, to be sure, but, then, she never knows what she’s afther gainin’, either. You’re not the one girl of a month ago — you look like one pinin’ away. It’s long ago I had a right to bring you to the doctor, instead of waitin’ till to-night.
Mary: Mother, the best man for a woman is the one for whom she has the most love, and Charlie had it all.
Mrs. Boyle: Well, there’s one thing to be said for him — he couldn’t have been thinkin’ of the money, or he wouldn’t ha’ left you — it must ha’ been somethin’ else.
Mary: (wearily). I don’t know — I don’t know, mother, — only I think…
Mrs. Boyle: What d’ye think?
Mary: I imagine — he thought — we weren’t — good enough for him.
Mrs. Boyle: An’ what was he himself, only a school teacher? Though I don’t blame him for fightin’ shy of people like that Joxer fella an’ that oul’ Madigan wan — nice sort o’ people for your father to inthroduce to a man like Mr. Bentham. You might have told me all about this before now, Mary; I don’t know why you like to hide everything from your mother; you knew Bentham, an’ I’d ha’ known nothin’ about it if it hadn’t bin for the Will; an’ it was only to-day, afther long coaxin’, that you let out that he’s left you.
Mary: It would have been useless to tell you — you wouldn’t understand.
Mrs. Boyle: (hurt). Maybe not — Maybe I wouldn’t understand — Well, we’ll be off now. [She goes over to the door left, and speaks to Boyle inside.
Mrs. Boyle: We’re goin’ now to the doctor’s. Are you goin’ to get up this evenin’?
Boyle: (from inside). The pains in me legs is terrible! It’s me should be poppin’ off to the doctor instead o’ Mary, the way I